


For the Greater Good

by Madelief



Series: Alistair and Freya's Adventures [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dragon Age Quest: The Landsmeet, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 16:11:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7647778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madelief/pseuds/Madelief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a giveaway/gift for the wonderful zaniasky, who has been a dedicated reader of Cullen and Lea's story and then won a prize on my Tumblr to have a story request. She selected Alistair and my Warden Freya, and what led Freya to her decision at the Landsmeet. </p><p>Prompts from a fab FB group: 'Are you done being mad yet?' and 'Don't pretend to apologize, I know you don't mean it.'</p><p>So here you have it - what happened when Alistair and Freya had THAT conversation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Greater Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zaniasky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaniasky/gifts).



It had been, quite possibly, one of the most excruciatingly hideous afternoons of Alistair’s life. Sweat had trickled down his spine in the stifling atmosphere of the hovel his half-sister lived in, all while the mocking voice in his head repeatedly tormented him over his utter stupidity. He’d charged in with his usual exuberant enthusiasm, convinced some strange woman would be just as delighted as he was, only for him to come across as some pompous, spoilt idiot, leaving him in that rare condition of having no comeback to such hurtful spite. Alistair must have counted the rafters in the rundown shack a hundred times over in a vain attempt to think about something else as Goldanna’s anger hit him in sore spots he didn’t realise existed.

The cherished boyhood hopes he’d never dared admit, not even to himself, hopes that had continued on even when he’d left the Chantry and set foot into the real world had been thoroughly dashed. Even through the chaos and devastation they’d witnessed over the last year – a nation ravaged, a king dead, an Order destroyed – he’d hoped. Then, in one fell swoop, everything he’d believed in had been tarnished beyond all recognition.

Scowling furiously at an offending rose bush, Alistair took a shuddering deep breath, the sweet air enveloping Eamon’s private gardens a far cry from the stinking sewers of Denerim’s Low Town.

_Maybe she’s right. What do I know after all?_

_I’m just a bastard’s son, shoved from pillar to post…._

The satisfying thud of a stone flying halfway across the path was momentary as Alistair nearly slipped and lost his balance on the loose gravel. He didn’t care if his behaviour was infantile. Dreams were for children and the naïve - something he’d just learnt to his cost and the transition to adult reality was far more traumatic than he’d ever envisaged. How he hadn’t realised before, with all they’d witnessed, he had no idea. He and Freya were the last two remaining Grey Wardens, left to cope with the aftermath of a traitor the likes of which Ferelden hadn’t seen in this age. His own family abandoning him time and time again and now this, the latest rejection, was more than he could bear.

To say he was smarting didn’t even begin to cover it.

_Surely I can still help though. I had it harder than her, for so long…._

_She suffered too….there must be more I can do!_

‘I thought that stone was going to end up back at the Circle, you kicked it so hard.’

Startled, Alistair jumped at Freya’s hesitant interruption. Hastily he ran a hand through his hair, grimacing inwardly at just how rumpled his appearance was, then cursing himself for his continued foolishness. Freya was the last woman in Thedas to care whether he was pristine or not, but the precise boundaries of their relationship were still too uncertain for Alistair to be complacent over what she’d dismiss as a minor detail.

He wanted to be perfect for her, yet if today had been anything to go by, he may as well wish for Satina to be made of cheese.

‘Yes, well, things on my mind, you know. Darkspawn monsters, kingdoms lacking a king, just how privileged I didn’t realise I was…..oh for the love of Andraste, that dog does not know what I just said!’

His self-depreciating laugh was hollow, even to his ears, as he refused to turn to look at her. The rumbled bark of disapproval from the hulking Mabari at Freya’s heels told Alistair he’d not even managed to convince a dog. With a contemptuous yawn, the enormous mutt sprawled across the gravel, blocking the only exit back to the mansion, Alistair’s last escape route gone.

‘Sugarbark isn’t just any dog,’ Freya chided softly, Alistair for one moment insanely jealous of coming in second place to an absurdly-named canine. ‘You can’t fool him and you certainly can’t fool me, especially not when you missed dinner – a most un-Alistair-like event. Do you want to talk about it?’

_No._

‘Well – it wasn’t what I was expecting, today. I’d always thought it might go differently. Aren’t family supposed to rally round? Welcome you with open arms?’

_Well that went to plan._

_For supposedly keeping your mouth shut, you sure do an amazing job of putting it all out there._

‘You can always talk to me, Alistair. I’m here for you.’ Freya hadn’t moved since coming to a halt behind him, waiting patiently to be invited into his space. ‘For what it’s worth, I am sorry Goldanna hurled so much abuse at you earlier. I was hard pushed not to teach her a lesson in basic courtesy.’

A reluctant smile quirked at Alistair’s lips as he finally found the courage to turn and look upwards. A flash of emerald green was the first thing he always registered, Alistair fervently hoping he’d never get over the jolt of pure exhilaration every time he caught sight of his fellow Grey Warden. Greedily, he absorbed each detail, the tumble of russet hair over one shoulder a halo of light as it caught the late afternoon sun, the sight of her tongue nervously darting across full lips the shade of redberries making him catch his breath. The lightest dusting of freckles across the bridge of Freya’s snub nose were barely visible against the fairness of her skin, her delicately arched eyebrows raised in an unspoken question.

She was wearing some kind of white cotton gown, flowing loosely round an hourglass figure that left him momentarily stunned in admiration. A gentle breeze caught at the hem to give Alistair a tantalizing glimpse of her legs outlined against the cloth, toned from months of hard combat and grinding travel. There was nothing unseemly about her attire – in fact it was positively modest compared to the form-fitting leather armour she deemed suitable for battle and had left him helpless to gawp at anything else. The simple fact Freya was in a dress at all had left Alistair speechless.

‘I’ve never seen you in a gown before,’ he blurted out before he could stop himself. ‘I’d recommend not fighting in it. Unless you’re planning on turning our enemies into stone.’

‘Am I to take that as a compliment, Alistair?’ Freya’s voice took on an amused lilt as he felt himself turn puce with embarrassment. ‘It’s either that or assume I’m that unattractive our enemies will faint from sheer horror.’

‘Well I’m not one for poetry you know. Even though Eamon’s rose garden is the perfect location. What shall it be, my lady? Denerim’s finest, from the hallowed walls of the Gnawed Noble itself, or ancient verse from the Tapster’s Tavern?’

Alistair wasn’t sure why he bothered. His usual flippancy to divert attention away from his own stupidity had never worked on Freya.

‘The petrification spell is forbidden, although I heard whispers that the most powerful magisters use it still.’ Freya ignored his discomfort much to his relief, gliding over to admire a nearby bush covered in blooms. ‘It is particularly lovely here though, isn’t it? Such an oasis of calm amidst the turmoil we’ve found ourselves caught up in.’

Alistair was lost, staring in longing at the image before him. Freya was the image of serenity and peace, her hair falling down one shoulder as she took a pink rose between her fingers to inhale its delicate scent. She was everything he’d been looking for his entire life, Alistair torn between speaking his heart and terror at losing her. In a short space of time, so much had changed between them, the easy camaraderie they’d shared the moment they’d met growing into a bond so deep the thought of waking up each morning without her gave him physical pain.

Of course, that was exactly what had happened, the moment people had started spouting off about kings and bastards and empty thrones and dragon’s blood. As if any of that mattered. Alistair had found a place in his life with the Wardens and, he’d secretly hoped, a woman to surpass any others he’d ever meet. He didn’t want to be king, especially not if it meant losing the sense of belonging that had eluded him his whole life.

_Not if it means losing…._

Alistair’s brain slammed the door shut on that last thought. Freya was not his to lose in the first place, much though he might wish it otherwise.

‘Well it beats slumming it in downtown Denerim.’ His words sounded hard, even to himself. ‘Goes to show you, doesn’t it, the divide between the haves and the don’t haves. Goldanna had a point there.’

‘No, she does not. Why did you let her speak to you so, Alistair? Why don’t you stand up for yourself more?’ Freya didn’t raise her voice as she straightened, fixing Alistair with a steady gaze that told him he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. ‘You’re so used to taking the back seat. No, don’t look at me like that – especially when you know I’m right. It’s because of what you’ve been forced to do your entire life so now it has become second nature. But at some point you’re going to have to take a stand.’

‘A stand? Isn’t that what being a Grey Warden is all about?’ Alistair was surprised by how stung he was by Freya’s criticism, hating the return of that mocking voice telling him she’d hit the nail on the head. ‘If I’m not slaughtering darkspawn, having put my life on the line on more than one occasion, then you’ll have to define what taking a stand means in your book!’

‘That’s not what I mean and you know it.’ Freya dismissed his poor attempt at an argument, her voice still calm and gentle as she watched him with an expression that made his heart hammer in his chest. ‘You are the bravest man I know. I am not just talking about your skill as a warrior, of which you know you are among the best. You’ve faced so much in your life, Alistair, and had to deal with the very worst of humanity. And still, you smile, you make jokes and you try to please everyone else. Why do you still humour Morrigan, after all her spite? For the same reason you are trying to find some good in your half-sister. You hide behind your shield of sarcasm rather than admit they’ve hurt you. How long will you let people get away with it?’

‘Is it my turn to take that as a backhanded compliment?’ Even now, after her heartfelt speech, Alistair could only respond with more of the same drivel he couldn’t seem to stop spouting. ‘Alistair Theirin. The second to last of the Grey Wardens, humorous travelling companion, doormat to Ferelden. Make sure that gets engraved on my headstone good and clear, won’t you?’

Freya said nothing for a moment as Alistair stared back, surprising even himself at the harshness of his words. He shivered involuntarily as the truth of what he’d said was suddenly revealed to himself. There was no point in trying to hide from a woman as insightful as Freya. She could read him like a book, and Alistair found that, for once in his life, he didn’t mind. Slowly, ever since they’d, met, she’d chipped away at the walls that had kept the world out for so long. Freya was the one ray of sunlight in an existence that had otherwise been doomed to an early grave in servitude of a country that had left him to rot in a kennel, then used him as a political pawn.

‘I have no intention of seeing a gravestone in place for you. You are better than that slattern who would deny you as her brother. Why should you care for her good opinion, or of any of those who have belittled you and made you believe you are less than who you are? It is time you took your rightful place where you belong rather than hide. You are a boy no longer.’

Underneath her relaxed demeanour, Freya had a will of iron and a streak of ruthlessness that had saved their lives on more than one occasion. It had never been directed at him until now. She waited once more, letting the impact of her softly spoken words sink in, refusing to budge an inch even as Alistair saw pain flare in her eyes at having to utter such unforgiving words.

The stab of agony at her seemingly callous statement hit Alistair right where he was most raw. Through the screaming of his emotions as his hands balled into fists and he closed his eyes, he spun on his heel away from her, the hidden meaning behind her words suddenly glaringly obvious.

‘No, I am a man. A man who has suffered much at the hands of others. I am tired of being forced to be something I am not!’ Alistair couldn’t believe it, that this woman above all, was herding him just like the others. ‘I am a Grey Warden! For once in my life, I have found my place, in this Order where I was accepted, as no one else would accept me! And you would have me throw it all away for a role which I am still completely unsuitable for! I thought you were above the politics game, Freya. I thought better of you – of us! I thought that –‘.

Abruptly Alistair stopped, staring sightlessly up at the sky, his rage at all that had unfolded in his life directed at the fluffy white clouds dotting the azure sky. Battling for control, images of his past flashed before him, the ever-present fear of never being quite good enough and fear of rejection yet again halting him just before he uttered words he’d never forgive himself from speaking. His teeth clamped together firmly, unable to meet her eyes as a sense of betrayal so strong rushed through him with such force he wanted to vomit.

‘You’d make an excellent king, you know.’ The catch in Freya’s voice as she uttered her fateful words was unmissable, her seeming calm belied by the passion behind each syllable. ‘You’ve always done your duty, Alistair. They couldn’t ever beat that from you, not even in the Chantry. You are what Ferelden needs! A king they know and can look up to! More than that, a king who cares! Who understands what ordinary folk suffer, who would lay his life down to ensure their wellbeing. Who has the sense of humour and compassion, to see beyond the petty politicking of Eamon, Celene and their ilk!’

‘Anora would make the better queen! She knows about all this tedious stuff. What do I have that’s so special?’

_Really?_

_That’s the best you can come up with?_

His arguments sounded weak, even to his ears, the childish refusal to be pushed into something so far out of his comfort zone roaring to the surface once more. 

All it took was one stolen glance at Freya’s face, twisted with just as much anguish, for Alistair’s fury to deflate. The sincerity with which she’d spoken, the truths she’d just laid out in such simple terms were impossible for him to deny. Her arms were folded and she’d not raised her tone once. She didn’t need to. The emotion flowing from her voice and from eyes sparkling with tears showed him far more than words how badly she was hurting too.

‘Do you want Anora on the throne, puppeteered by her awful father with the likes of Isolde spreading their venom in the bannorns? Do you truly think so little of yourself, that she is really the better option?’ Freya was relentless, her own pain evident as she hammered the last point home. ‘Tell me now, what it is to be. We can just walk into that Landsmeet tomorrow and throw our support behind her and it will all be over. Or you can acknowledge all that you truly are, and put an end to their scheming and betrayal. The choice is yours.’

‘It isn’t much of a choice. And not one I’m prepared to make right now!’

It was a choice that Alistair had been flirting with in his mind, the moment Eamon had given him a calculating look that told him all he needed to know. There was only one reason he’d suddenly become so useful to the old man once more. In his heart of hearts, he knew he was capable of much more, had deliberately pushed aside any hint of responsibility even after drinking the darkspawn blood. What was the point, if people would continually ridicule and deride him for every decision? He’d taken the easy way out and sat back, and had done so his whole life. No one had cared, either way. It had never mattered before.

_Well, not till Duncan._

_And that was nothing, compared to her._

No matter how often the thoughts had chased through his mind, Alistair had only arrived at one conclusion. If he became king, he’d have to marry. Someone noble.

The mere thought bought bile rushing up his throat and nearly forced him to his knees in mindless despair.

‘There is a chance to change the world, if only you would take it. But you have to choose, Alistair. Time has run out.’

It was as if Freya had read his mind. She was composed once more as she stood before him as she uttered the devastating words that would forever tear them apart, his oasis of peace in an otherwise turbulent life cast to the storms of duty. Her hands were clasped and her lips parted slightly as she watched him, patiently waiting for a response. The only hint that she wasn’t nearly as together as she was making out to be were two bright red spots high on her cheekbones and the glistening teardrop rolling down the porcelain paleness of her skin.

‘I can’t!’

‘Why not?’ She refused to give quarter, demanding that he tell her the truth or forever leave things between them as it was – a situation that had become so deeply unsatisfying to him Alistair finally found the courage to speak a truth he could no longer hide. ‘You’re going to have to do better than that to convince me otherwise. What is stopping you, Alistair!’

‘I would lose you. Maker, I know this may sound ten shades of awkward, but I can’t imagine life without you. Don’t make me, Freya, before we’ve even had a chance to discover what this is between us.’

There. He’d said it, finally, after weeks and months of the two of them casting sidelong glances and shy smiles, the blissful torment of late-night fireside chats when no one else was around leaving him desperate to tell her the whole. Aside from the one time where he’d died and gone to heaven when Freya had accidentally kissed him, Alistair had been uncertain of her feelings, even though all evidence had pointed towards her being just as besotted as he was. The sly nudges and blatant encouragement from Zevran and Leliana had sent him racing into his shell, terrified of rejection once more, even of a woman who had always refused to leave him isolated and on the fringes.

‘I can’t imagine life without you either.’ Without him realising, Freya had moved to stand right before him, so near Alistair could see the flecks of gold within the irises of her eyes, the common fragrance of the roses as nothing to the delicate scent of lilies he always associated with Freya intoxicating his brain. ‘I would never force you do anything you didn’t feel was right, Alistair, but Andraste help me from my own selfishness, I just had to know before…’

His mind was screaming at him to decipher the hidden meaning behind her words, but it was too late. His heart was in his mouth, his fists clenched by his sides as Alistair forced himself to stand there and not run away screaming. For once in his life, he’d thrown his innate caution to the winds. Never had he felt such a mix of fear, vulnerability and hope as he’d done at that moment.

‘There is only you, Freya. There has only ever been you.’

Alistair and Freya were caught in a web of golden sunset from the lazy summer’s day, enveloped in a warmth and radiance that nothing could penetrate. They were both so close they could touch each other, yet still so stunned at the turn of the conversation they still hadn’t dared touch each other. It was just the two of them, a yearning so powerful Alistair could barely breathe from the intensity of emotion thundering through his being.

‘I am in love with you, Alistair. I have been for so long now. Maker save me, there will never be anyone else but you.’

Alistair had dreamt night after night of the feel of Freya’s satin skin under his fingertips. Needless to say, the reality was far superior to his inexpert imaginings. He smoothed away another crystal tear that had trailed down her cheek, marvelling at just how soft the skin of her jaw was under his palm. The electric shock that jolted through him as his lips caressed hers with the lightest of touches, his legs shaking as he felt her cool fingers slide across the nape of his neck. The lustrous mass of silken strands in his hands was all he registered, Freya tasting of sunshine and strawberries as her lips parted with a small sigh of ecstasy under his tongue.

The only time they’d come this close together before had been on another evening quite like this one, with just the one mission to save the world hanging over them. Alistair had known for some time just how deep his feelings ran for this exceptional woman, and had prayed that he’d find a way to tell her. That had been right before he’d clumsily clashed his teeth up against her lip in a far less engaging manner than he was discovering now. It seemed his hamfisted attempts had not, thank the Maker, put her off.

Kissing Freya was, quite simply put, beyond all his wildest expectations. He wasn’t sure why either of them had waited so long to do somethings so utterly delightful, but they were finally here now and he had no intention of ever letting her go.

It was another small, unconscious moan from her that had Alistair deepening the kiss, sliding one arm around the small of her back to draw her right up against his stomach. Energy shot straight to his groin as he felt the firmness of her breasts push into his chest, his fingers now tangled in her hair. His tongue slipped into her mouth time and time again, seeking the heat from hers as the line of her nails along the hairs on his jaw made him tremble, his eyes closed and his senses spinning as he finally held the woman he’d spent his life looking for close to his heart.

‘I am in love with you, Freya.’ Alistair clasped her face between his hands as he felt his soul soar, gazing into eyes he’d happily lose himself in forever. ‘From the moment I saw you, and I’ve been too cowardly to ever tell you…’

‘Ssh.’ One finger pressed against his lips, the blood continuing its charge round his veins as Freya traced a line over his mouth. ‘We are here now, are we not? I have danced around the subject as much as you have. But I needed you to know that you are worthy of love, Alistair. I was scared you would reject me otherwise.’

‘Reject you!’ The only way for him to silence such blasphemy was by kissing her again, before undertaking a leisurely exploration of just how sensitive the slender arch of her neck was. ‘I think it’s safe to say that would never have been an option. Have you looked at you recently?’

‘Alistair!’ Freya giggled before gasping and sagging against him with a sigh of what he presumed was a mix between happiness and desire as his teeth found her earlobe. ‘You know what I mean. I’m not going to scold you though. I love how you always make me laugh and, no matter what, you find the humour in the situation. The world needs more people like you.’

‘Say that at the Landsmeet tomorrow and that’s bound to win them over. King Alistair, famed for international diplomacy with his lame jokes and off-colour remarks on the scenery.’

_Oh well done, Alistair._

_You finally get what you’ve been after and what do you do? Remind both of you just what is at stake and ruin the mood!_

Strangely enough though, Freya didn’t say anything. She stood on tiptoe, Alistair marvelling at just how petite she was in his arms for all the abundance of hip, backside and bosom he’d been unashamedly admiring for so many months now. All cognitive thought then vanished as insistent hands wound round his neck, pulling his lips to hers once more in a lingering, soft kiss that was filled with love and promise.

It had to end, as all good things seemed to do, the nearby sound of a door slamming making them both raise their heads – him with a hint of irritation and Freya with a hint of entertained resignation. Wordlessly, they entwined their arms round each other’s waists, the day having rapidly faded in the time they’d spent on this new journey Alistair had finally taken the courage to embark upon.

As they crept in and left each other at their respective bedchambers with one last, stolen kiss, he was surprised to realise he was in some way grateful to his half-sister. If she hadn’t forced the issue between them both, Alistair may have found himself doing something utterly ridiculous, like becoming King of Ferelden. Collapsing into his bed, once he’d discarded his clothes, he lay down, his body afire and his mind racing, impatient for the night to be done and the Landsmeet to be over so they could at long last be together. There was no way in Thedas that he’d be parted from her, not now he’d found her.

With that final, comforting thought bolstering his newfound confidence, Alistair fell promptly asleep.

\-------

‘After all that! How dare they!’

Leliana’s infuriated hiss at Freya’s ear summed up all that she’d felt throughout the sham of the Landsmeet. There had been no time for discussion with Alistair on the tumultuous evening before, all of them hauled out of bed at some obscene hour that morning before being led off to be paraded in front of Ferelden’s finest.

She’d thought it all but impossible to walk away from Cullen in the Circle, to take her destiny in her own hands for once and join the Grey Wardens – her only chance of escaping a life that he’d never understand her hatred for. It had been even harder to leave behind the broken, tortured Templar he’d become, the memories of those precious short weeks they’d spent together ruined by the nightmare of the demon’s sullied touch.

Watching Alistair walk so bravely into the pit of rabid wolves that counted for the Ferelden ruling classes, however, was a thousand times worse.

She’d had to stand there, her rage ignited, defying every single one of their twisted arguments against, listen to him be scorned over and over again by a family who had led his own to their deaths. There was only Alistair left, Freya prepared to bet her last copper that the harpy who had forced the issue for him yesterday was no relation whatsoever.

And that crowd had just decided that Loghain and his filthy lies were somehow more deserving than the hardy bunch of misfits saving their sorry skins from the darkspawn that raided her dreams every night. Freya was half inclined to let them stew in their own juices.

Still, she mused to herself as they quickly dispatched of Loghain’s guards, Freya almost clinically detached in her fighting as she stood back and surveyed the scene of carnage, one good thing had come out of it.

That good thing was standing before her now, a light-hearted grin on his face as he casually wiped the blood off his sword on a guard’s tabard.

‘Guess people like to learn the hard way,’ Alistair quipped in response to Leliana’s fury, the smile he shot her making Freya weak at the knees. ‘Although perhaps it’s a good thing the Revered Mother stepped in. Can’t have all of Ferelden’s nobles dead in one fell swoop, can we?’

‘I should have known you’d make a mess of things,’ Anora’s venomous voice wafted over from the other side of the hall. ‘All brutality and no finesse, Alistair. How do you think you can even rule a kingdom based on such limited faculties of understanding?’

Freya had never admired Alistair more than at that point. Instead of responding with a typically sarcastic rejoinder of his own, he drew himself to his not inconsiderable height, turned his back on the icy yet brittle perfection that the Queen of Ferelden projected and instead walked over to her father. Anora had never taken well to being ignored, Freya absurdly wanting to burst out in hysterical laughter at the sight of her pinched face and sour expression. Instead, she focussed on Alistair’s newly-cleaned sword, pointing right at Loghain’s vulnerable neck.

‘You are a traitor and a coward, Loghain. You sully everything this kingdom stands for. I watched you lead Ferelden’s armies away under false pretences, leaving us to die! Your misplaced hatred of Orlais has nearly lead to the destruction of this country, not to mention almost eradicating the one group who could help save it. The real threat does not come from their armies, but from the darkspawn that arise even as we sit here debating our petty grievances!’

The look of disdain on Alistair’s face as he regarded the onetime saviour of Ferelden was marked, Freya’s heart swelling with pride as she watched him finally claim what was rightfully his place. Not one noble dissented, not one moved against the sole heir to the throne of Ferelden. Freya saw Leliana and Zevran casting sharp glances around the gathering, noting as she did the frowns of displeasure from some, although none would openly come forward and declare themselves against the ruling of the Landsmeet. Trial by duel had been declared and Loghain had lost, quite spectacularly in the end.

Freya had been going to take out the arrogant bastard herself, but she didn’t have it in her to deny Alistair the vengeance he so badly needed. All that he could call family had been wiped out by the machinations of the madman in front of them. Whatever greatness Loghain had held in the past was gone, with no further claim to glory after his misdeeds across the realm finally came to light.

‘So what is it to be?’ Zevran murmured at Freya’s side, the room stilled as all eyes fell on her. ‘They’re looking to you for a decision. Choose Loghain as a Warden you lose Alistair. Put Anora on the throne and you have that cold bitch to stare at for the rest of your days, but you have your man. Put Alistair on the throne you have yourself to stare at for the rest of your days. Lonely, as an existence, but you’d have saved a nation. If self-sacrifice keeps you warm at night, of course.’

_Why me?_

_Why does it always have to be me? Making the ultimate choice, the ultimate sacrifice?_

Screaming like a petulant child would get her precisely nowhere. She’d had her moment of perfection yesterday, a treasured memory she’d carry with her for the rest of her days. One kiss had been all she’d asked for, just one. And dear Maker, it was everything and more, the sweetest, most heartfelt of kisses that had been over before they’d even had a chance to get started. The torment of yearning would live with her forever, the hunger for so much more that Alistair could give, knowing that it would, all too soon, have to end.

It had shown her, finally, what the right way was. Freya had known from the moment she’d been taken to the Circle that path Andraste had chosen for her wasn’t an easy one. But never had she realised just how far she’d be torn between the harsh reality of duty and the seductive promise of desire. The outrageously handsome man before her, the one who had taught her how to laugh, shown her the true depth of honour and the real meaning of love, was all there for the taking.

_He was never mine to take, though._

_I do not deserve you, my love. Forgive me._

‘Do not seek to defy me in this, or I will leave you all to the fate you truly deserve! It is for the people who have no say, who are at the whims of the Arl Howes of this world. If it was left up to you all, we’d still be under the yoke of a Queen who would have sold her own soul for power, fighting an imaginary enemy to the West whilst the real threat is alive and very much kicking. How fortunate for you that there is salvation! Your rightful king stands before you. He has proven himself, not just in this Landsmeet, but by every deed he has undertaken to save this kingdom from annihilation whilst you all cower behind your fortress walls!’

Freya was noted for her reserve. She’d always been the cool-headed one in the Circle, the mage all the others went to when there was some kind of arbitration needed. She’d gained respect for her even-handling of somewhat tense relations between the motley crew of companions who had somehow gathered around them, and had not once raised her voice to resolve a squabble. She’d faced down the brutality of Orzammar’s court with barely a hair out of place, negotiated with creatures of fantastical legend in the heartlands of the Dalish and taken it all in her stride.

It was all lies. She was a woman who had run in numbing fear from the chaos at her former home and the destruction of a love that had never meant to be rather than confront the demons of her past. On all the occasions when her diplomacy had been so lauded were, in actual fact, as a result of her abject terror at putting a foot wrong. It had always been easier to be polite and seen as the good girl rather than cause trouble.

The man responsible for Freya becoming who she was meant to be deserved so much better than she could offer. For some inexplicable reason the lords and ladies of Ferelden had been unable to reach a decision, looking to her, a humble Grey Warden for judgement. For the first time, she let her anger take over, lending her courage to give up the man she’d fallen headlong in love with. It was the only way she could think of to restore his dignity and pride as well as giving their country a chance to finally recover. Alistair deserved no less and, whether he wanted to admit it or not, it was a life he had been born to.

She’d just not realised just how deep the regret of what might have been could bite as she bent her knee to bow before the man she’d stupidly hoped to marry.

‘This is your realm. I leave judgement of Loghain the Betrayer to you, my liege.’

There was a hush so quiet at Freya’s proclamation she couldn’t breathe, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying desperately that one day Alistair would forgive her.

‘For Duncan.’ Alistair’s voice rang out clearly across the hall with a hint of disbelief as his mind tried frantically to absorb the future she’d just committed them both to. ‘I will do this.’

Anora’s scream of anguish at the abrupt turn of events against her favour was shrill in Freya’s ears as she eventually raised her eyes to watch Loghain’s head bounce along the floor. Blood was spurting over Alistair and Anora as the Queen knelt down by her father’s twitching corpse, shrieking in her despair. Alistair gave a disgusted shake of his head as he walked towards Freya, wiping his sword down again. The ringing of steel as he slammed it back into its scabbard made her wince.

‘The Landsmeet has decided. Alistair will be king.’ Eamon’s solemn tone sealed both hers and Alistair’s fate, Alistair still looking as shocked as he’d felt only moments earlier when she’d declared her intentions. ‘There can be no dissention or risk of civil war….’

‘I am not swearing fealty, Eamon. Alistair has made his feelings plain on the subject of marriage.’ Anora’s imperious voice declaring such a subject Freya had yet to hear about made her start in surprise. Before she had a chance to give a cutting rejoinder, Alistair interrupted.

‘Lock her in the tower for now,’ he ordered, sounding far more like the leader he could be than the flippant young youth he pretended to be. ‘She and her heirs may be needed if I die in battle. Someone has to take this fight seriously, after all.’

‘That is uncharacteristically wise of you,’ Anora sniped as she was led away.

‘Yes well, don’t let it get around.’ Alistair replied sarcastically, turning his back on her as he went to face the crowds at Eamon’s urging. ‘I have a reputation. Anyway….’

Freya melted into the background as Alistair strode forwards, not for one second letting his extreme disquiet at the situation he’d been thrust into, with no warning, show. Staring at the broad shoulders and powerful arms, she allowed herself to remember the luxury of being held in them for one blessed period, drawing from his strength as she let the simple joy of being with Alistair erase all her burdens.

_Whether this now counts as the biggest regret of all, only time will tell._

_But marrying Anora? He can’t…._

Icy cold shards filled her chest at the thought. Alistair hadn’t mentioned such a subject to her, ever, although Freya immediately understood the sense behind it. She was left with little time to dwell over it, however. Her attention was captured by Alistair firstly swearing under his breath, promptly naming Eamon his Regent whilst he went to war, finishing with some rousing statement that made everyone cheer and she completely missed, before marching out of the throne room and gesturing impatiently for her to follow. 

‘Warden Amell. Kindly join me for one moment.’

Freya had experienced more emotions in the last twenty-four hours than she’d ever thought possible. Extreme highs of dizzying delight and the crashing low that had yet to recede, no matter how often she’d told herself she’d done the right thing.

She jumped as the door slammed shut behind them, Alistair’s burning fury barely contained as he spun around to face her. Freya was momentarily distracted, caught up in mute fascination at the hard lines of his jaw, the barest hint of stubble shadowing his cheek reminding her of the slightly salty rasp against her lips yesterday. It was gone before she’d even registered it properly, all thoughts of that magical evening wiped out in the face of Alistair’s shock.

‘I don’t want to be king,’ Alistair hissed, the intensity blazing in his golden eyes making her gulp in a mixture of desire and devastation. ‘I thought you didn’t want me to be king either.’

‘I asked you yesterday what you wanted.’ Freya was amazed her voice didn’t shake, her fleeting flight of fancy thankfully gone, wishing to do nothing but run away screaming just as Anora had. ‘You or her on the throne.’

‘I want to be with you! I thought I’d made that clear last night but apparently not!’ His anger was palatable now, Freya’s heart shattering to hear Alistair’s rage directed at her. ‘How could you manoeuver me into this impossible situation? Were you just playing with me, yesterday? How can we be together now? We kissed and I – I thought it meant something more!’

‘Alistair, as Grey Wardens we fight for the greater good.’ Her ragged breathing was doing nothing for her aura of calm she needed to feign right now. ‘The same can be said of a kingdom. I need someone there we can trust implicitly to defeat this Blight. You think I want a snake like Anora in power? Even more importantly, perhaps, this is your birthright. I stand by what I said. You will make a far better king than she ever could be as a queen. This is what we need, a stable kingdom to secure defeat of the archdemon. And this is what you need, to find your place in life. This is what you were meant to be!’

Staring down at the fireball she’d just casually conjured to distract herself from the searing agony through her soul, Freya knew she’d not uttered the words neither of them wanted to hear.

‘Besides,’ she carried on determinedly. ‘What’s all this about marrying Anora? Isn’t that a conversation I should perhaps know about if we’re supposed to be together?’

‘It was Eamon and Anora having the conversation and I may as well not have been in the bloody room!’ Alistair shouted, losing his temper finally as the events of the day came crashing down on him. ‘I told them where they could take their wonderful wedding and stick it somewhere very painful! How could you think that I’d marry a woman like that?’

‘You will still have to marry, Alistair.’

There it was. The one fact Freya had been avoiding dealing with, when she’d decided to do all she could to put Alistair on the Ferelden throne. The one reason she’d held out from expressing her true feelings for so long, because he could never truly be hers. She refused to share, refused to demean herself to something little better than a prostitute.

‘I wanted to marry you!’ Alistair then stared at her, horrified he’d blurted out something so revealing given the lack of any definition around the current status of their relationship. ‘I love you, if you hadn’t noticed already. Why would I be busy trying to shackle myself to someone else? I thought we would be Grey Wardens together, and that you’d finally agreed the same by kissing me yesterday. Maker’s Breath, what a fool I sound!’

‘You’re not a fool, Alistair. You have demonstrated that time and time again, despite your regular declarations to the contrary.’ She wondered how she sounded so steady, all while her heart was breaking. ‘If the circumstances had been different – I just wanted…..I just wanted one kiss. Is that too much to ask?’

Alistair’s shoulders dropped, distractedly running a hand through his hair as his anger fled, only to be replaced by a sadness so profound Freya wanted to cry.

‘They won’t let me marry you now. You’re a mage. I have to think of the succession, or so they’ll tell me. That’s why Anora was so ideal. Except she never gave Cailan any children and, well the two of us as Grey Wardens means our chances are even lower….for the love of Andraste, why are we even having this discussion!’

‘I get you being mad at a system that wants to force you into marriage, but surely Alistair, you have to realise that there is no other option but for you to be king. As for children….well….one thing at a time, surely? There are no plans to race you down the aisle are there?’ Freya was desperate to change the subject yet compelled to keep prodding away at that supremely painful spot in her soul. ‘Please….are you done being mad yet? At me that is? On top of it all – I don’t think I can bear being at odds with you.’

‘I’m not mad,’ Alistair said heavily. ‘I was never mad at you at least, Freya. Just….circumstance. Where do we go from here? This is all so new and I am confused – I have responsibilities. How did this happen? I thought I had you and now it’s gone….do I have nothing once more? I can’t live in a world that doesn’t have you in it.’

Heedless to the state she was in after the short but bloody fight, Freya ran across the room and into his arms. Alistair hugged her tightly and kissed her hair, her cheeks now drenched in tears before her lips found his and they were caught in an embrace as intense for the level of passion as it was for the bewilderment and hurt. She couldn’t stay away from him, no matter how hard she forced herself to try over the long months of campaigning and travel. As she captured his groan in her mouth, caught his bottom lip between her teeth and revelled in the sensory pleasure that each slip of his tongue against hers gave her, she knew her fate was sealed.

‘I’m so sorry. I will never leave you,’ she whispered, her hands slipping under the collar of his plate and teased the hairs on his neck, delighting in his shiver of need. ‘I am yours, Alistair, no matter what the future brings.’

‘They will not make me give you up. I just found you and I am not letting you go.’ Alistair’s hoarse murmur next to her ear sent sparks down to her navel, Freya’s head falling to one side to enjoy the sensation of the stubble she'd been daydreaming over tickling her neck. ‘You are mine, Freya Amell and we were meant to be. I shall not be parted from you. Please, stay with me once this madness is over. We’ll find a way, I promise. What’s the point in being king if I can’t have a few things my own way?’

There was a sharp rap on the door, cutting rudely across Freya’s tormented bliss as they both looked up reluctantly.

‘Oh my, well I am sorry –‘.

‘Don’t pretend to apologise, I know you don’t mean it.’ Alistair interrupted Morrigan’s drawl, scowling at the other mage as she smiled unrepentantly at them.

‘Honestly, Alistair, watching you inelegantly paw at Freya is the last thing I want to be seeing. For all you know I could have been apologising to myself for being exposed to such a sight.’ Her smirk widened as Alistair’s temper threatened to explode once more. ‘Although, what took you so long? The pair of you, quite sickening at times -.’

‘Yes Morrigan, how can we help you, Morrigan?’ Freya replied tersely, still feeling far too exposed from the riot of feeling at believing she’d lost Alistair then seemingly not after all.

‘Given that you asked so charmingly, that rabble outside playing at being monarchy are asking for you. You did both just disappear.’ Morrigan waggled her finger at them as they both slowly made their way outside. ‘I was the only one with the guts to come and disturb you. Leliana mentioned something about Alistair being quite intimidating. Foolish girl.’

‘You clearly were never taught the old adage ‘if you’ve got nothing nice to say don’t say it.’ Alistair grumbled behind her.

‘Of course not! Who believes old wives’ tales but the most simplest of creatures.’ Morrigan replied in a sugary sweet voice. ‘Present company not excepted.’

‘That nose of yours.’ They’d all stopped by now, Alistair looking hard at Morrigan’s side. ‘Hmmm – yes’ that’s it. Your mother’s nose! How like her you are.’

‘I am nothing like her! How dare you…’

Freya let the never-ending argument take over, both her and Alistair finding some crumbs of comfort in such a long-established routine that he and Morrigan had fallen into over the long year of warfare. As they took their places back in the main hall, mercifully grateful that Eamon and the bounds of protocol could now take over, she allowed herself time to pause. Her emotions were skittering through her like quicksilver, too much rioting through her mind to make much sense of Alistair’s final words before they had been interrupted.

_I don’t understand. How can we not be together? He’ll have a wife and I can’t – I won’t…._

_But he won’t marry? I don’t understand that either…._

The fire of magic through her veins flared at the last thought, Freya having been convinced that a man of Alistair’s resolve would never stoop to having an affair. As she looked sideways, bemused and trying just to make sense of the present, she caught Alistair watching her with such a look of adoration and love the momentous decisions she’d just committed them both to were forgotten. He caught sight of her admiring gaze, Freya’s chest tightening at the blush that crept up his neck. Her own face felt hot as Alistair continued to watch her, a small smile hovering at his lips and the promise in his eyes giving her a wild hope that, maybe, there was a chance for them both yet.

At Eamon’s polite cough, they both caught themselves and stared ahead once more, Freya’s own smile hard to contain as she refocussed on the tasks at hand. There was still time with the darkspawn horde still a way from the city gates, Alistair had yet to be crowned, and he hadn’t sent her away. For a few more days she would do her best to pretend that the world hadn’t been turned upside down.

Freya could dare to dream, for a little while longer at least.


End file.
